Fool's Quest

I had seen dragons before. I’d touched minds with Tintaglia, the first of the queen dragons to return to our world. I’d seen Icefyre’s first flight when he emerged after years of being locked in a glacier. I’d watched mating dragons, seen them dive onto penned cattle offered to them as a bribe. I knew only too well how powerful they were, and how quickly they could reduce a bull to a bloody carcass. I had known that my sword was virtually useless against a bear; against a dragon, it was ridiculous. Lant abruptly stepped up beside me. He’d lifted his blade as well, but it wavered wildly. “Sick,” he gasped, but he didn’t retreat.

“Get under it!” I heard Per order someone hoarsely. “Lie close. It can conceal both of you.” He staggered to my left side, his belt-knife out. “Are we going to die now?” he asked in a quavering voice that broke to shrillness at the end.

“Where is the one who belongs to a dragon?”

Dragon-speech. Sound was only a part of it. Some, I knew, could not understand dragons when they spoke. They heard only the roars, grunts, and snarls of a wild creature. I’d understood the words but could make no sense of them. I stood still and silent.

“I smell him. I smell one dragon-touched, chosen by a dragon we have long believed dead. Are you here by his command?”

I guessed what he smelled. The dragon’s blood the Fool had used. Per made a retching sound. I heard no sound from the Fool or Spark. I took a breath. “We mean no harm,” I called to the dragon. Then I swiveled my head. My Wit had told me someone else approached, and the figure I saw striding toward me was one from my childhood nightmares. He was tall and scarlet-skinned, with blazing blue eyes, as if light shone through sapphires. His tall frame was cloaked in a flowing tunic of gold and loose black trousers. He was long-limbed in proportions that were appropriate to his height, but not human. He wore battle harness such as I’d never seen, but the sword that he pulled ringing from its sheath was an all-too-familiar tool to me. Elderling, like the creatures that had stared down from the tapestry that had graced the wall of my boyhood bedchamber. He spoke as he strode toward us. “Well done, Arbuc! I knew these invaders could not evade us for long! And now they will answer for …”

His words trickled away as he halted and stared at us. “These are not the thieves I chased! Who are you, how do you come here, and what do you wish? Answer with words or blood, it’s all one to me.” He stood and held his weapon in a style I did not recognize. Formality. Always choose formality first.

I did not sheathe my blade but neither did I move it in a threatening way. I was glad now that I’d layered my pretty cloak over my serviceable one. I made as courtly a bow as I could with a bared weapon. “Well met, good sir. We are emissaries to Queen Malta and King Reyn of the Dragon Traders. We come from the Six Duchies. We would be most grateful if you would escort us to their palace.”

My lack of aggression puzzled him. I saw that Lant had taken my cue and lowered the tip of his blade. Per stood at the ready. Of the Fool and Spark, I heard not a whisper. I hoped no betraying toe peeped out from under the butterfly cloak’s camouflage.

The Elderling’s gaze traveled from me to Lant to Per. I knew we were not particularly presentable but I retained my dignity and did not lower my eyes. “How did you get here?” he demanded.

I avoided direct refusal in my answer. “Sir, as you no doubt can tell, we have come a long and weary way. In the Mountains we dealt with cold and were even attacked by a bear. We ask only for audience with the most gracious rulers of Kelsingra. No more than that do we seek.”

I saw him turn his eyes toward the cliffs and mountains that backed the city we stood in. I tried to remember all I could of this city. I’d been here once before. Indeed, I had come here by my first inadvertent stumble through a Skill-portal, on my journey to find Verity. Without turning my head, my eyes marked the location of the tower where I had first glimpsed the intricate map the Elderlings had left. As I recalled what little I knew of it, I decided to take a risk. “Or, if you are busy on errands of your own, we shall be happy to venture on to the Tower of the Map and wait there for your king and queen to receive us. We know our arrival is unannounced. We do not presume to hope they will see us immediately.”

I heard the clatter of boots and looked past the scarlet Elderling to see an armed troop advancing toward us. They were men, not Elderlings, and their weaponry and armor were of more familiar sorts than those the red man bore. Six in the front rank, and three more ranks behind them. Outnumbered. A conflict unwinnable with blades.